


Part of Your World

by oneawkwardcookie



Series: Fathoms Below [1]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief Mention of Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Little Mermaid Elements, M/M, Magical Realism, Mentioned Firehouse 118 Crew (9-1-1 TV), Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Relationship Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Slow Burn, There'll also be fluff in the middle, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26465248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneawkwardcookie/pseuds/oneawkwardcookie
Summary: Buck is a mermaid. Eddie is a man. Can I make it any more obvious?
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: Fathoms Below [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996057
Comments: 82
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @teambuddie-118 for her enthusiasm for the idea and for letting me drop into her DM with random Little Mermaid questions, even though this started there and has ended up...here 😝, and to @kitkat0723 for letting me scream at her as well and fixing one of my biggest headaches ( ~~me~~ plot-wise) and letting me throw angsty stuff at her (that’s just how we roll sadly 😅)

He always ends up back here: a hidden cove he’d discovered a year ago when he’d finally decided to leave and had just swam and swam until the ache in his tail overpowered the ache in his heart. It had been his first experience with the land above, or at least what he had imagined of it: to swim deeper and deeper into the darkness and suddenly burst out into air.

Over the last year, he’s gathered a lot. Today though, the water just seems a little darker and even the glow of the golden chest submerged in the corner isn’t enough to bring a smile to his face. He makes his way up to the wooden furniture, resting his elbows on the top and staring at the reflective surface above it. He doesn’t need to see his own face to know that his eyes look sad, but there’s something about seeing the furrow between his brows, his expression contorting his red birthmark, that makes it feel all the more real.

Shaking his head, he splashes water at the glass, watching the water droplets slide down before turning away and heading towards his actual destination. These are his prized possessions. The first had been salvaged from the old shipwreck that had also given him the chest that was currently below the surface. These though: these are new and have pride of place, carefully resting on the flat rock, wrapped in a clear plastic.

He hauls himself out of the water and shakes his hands below him, until his skin is as dry as he’ll let it be. Reaching beside him, he carefully pulls back the packaging, peeling the layers off until there's only a single clear layer between him and the paper.

He’d got this on his last trip, and though he knows he needs to make his haul last a full year, a swell of curiosity gets the better of him. He races through the pages, hands almost shaking with excitement as his eyes flit left and right over the words, fingers grasping only at the very corners to carefully turn the page and carry on the journey. It’s only when he goes to take a breath, and it grates his chest, does he realize that he’s been sitting there for far too long, his hands starting to resemble the creased and cracked spine of the book. He hastily wraps the book back into its protective cover, placing it into its own new pile, before slipping back into the water. His skin sings as it makes contact with the water, and the first gasping gulp that he takes soothes his beating heart.

He takes a moment to float under the surface, lying on his back as he stares at the dancing patterns on the cave ceiling. The front cover of the book had shown that there were sequels and he makes a mental note to try and remember to find those, if possible, when he next went on land. He chuckles to himself, a deep rumbling sound, as he thinks of how appropriate it was to get something called Wicked from the world above.

His parents hadn’t really told or taught him much in the rare moments they’d spent together, but one thing they had insisted on drilling into him at a young age was that he was not to go above the water. They’d said it to him in the way a parent tells their child a ghost story, except he _knew_ that ghosts weren’t real. The idea of leaving the water hadn’t even occurred to him before, not even in his wildest dreams about escaping his life, so he’d naturally rushed to find Maddie, asking her how it was even possible to leave the water like that. She’d sighed, in her trademark put-upon way, even as she pulled him into her side, and explained that mermaids could only safely go onto land once a year, for the 12 hours between low tides, when they were granted legs for those brief hours. He remembered excitedly asking her what it was like the last time she went, only to see her face close off to him, telling him that they didn’t do that anymore, that that world wasn’t meant for people like them. That’s all he’d gotten before she’d changed the topic, refusing to entertain his questions.

Naturally, that hadn’t stopped him, and in his teenage rebellion, tipped over the edge by Maddie’s absence, he decided to sneak up onto the shore. He’d only ever ventured as far as the beach before, but that had been enough to see what humans looked like, albeit from a safe distance.

His latest trip, however, had him taking far more wobbly steps than ever before, and leaving the relative safety of the beach, to wander along the ocean front. It was there that he’d seen… _him_. He was in a group of other men, cheers and jeers bouncing back and forth between the rest, but his face was serious and competitive. That was, until the man beside him had tripped over his own feet and fallen face first in the sand; then, he was throwing his head back and laughing, the sound carrying crystal clear to where Buck had stopped mid-step. The way he was standing, hands gripping his hips, had drawn attention to the slope of his abs and the way that his shorts were hanging low on his hips had revealed the sharp cut of his Adonis belt. He’d had a bandage over his shoulder, but the way he leapt forward, stretching his arms up to punt the ball back over the net, made him think that it was almost healed. He was radiant, and Buck had ducked away before he could find himself getting caught staring.

As he’d slowly made his way back to the water, his head had been in the clouds and he’d almost tripped over a messy heap at the side of the road. Looking down, he’d seen the books, half hidden under some torn netting and discarded food, and had gently salvaged them, pressing them against his chest as he walked back along the sand, mind still drifting in the breeze. 

He’s back in his alcove, floating in the shallow pool after having re-read one of the books when the quiet lapping of water against the rock face is suddenly drowned out by the echoing sounds of human voices. He’s startled out of his relaxed state, diving as deep as he can before heading towards the sound.

“Where is he? Eddie!” There are frantic shouts, but the sound is cut short, absorbed by the water. He wonders who they’re calling for when he sees what they’re talking about. A man, the man from the beach, is above him, floating face down. There’s something attached to his mouth, and the tank that leads from it has a light on it, that’s flashing as red as the small cloud that’s blooming from near his head. The man has his eyes closed and is limp. With a forceful push of this tail, he reaches him, and starts pulling the lifeless man back towards his cave. He flips him out of the water and over on the flat rock, gently cradling his head as he lays him down.

Up close, he is breathtaking. Buck stays half submerged but he rests his elbow next to the man’s chest. Eddie. His name is Eddie. With trembling fingers, he pushes Eddie’s hair off his face, brushing the damp strands away from his forehead. The cut doesn’t look too bad this close, but he still presses two fingers to the wound, letting magic seep out and close up the wound. Once it’s smoothed over, only slightly paler than the surrounding skin, he scoops up some water, slowly cleaning away what he presumes is his blood.

He pulls the mask away from his face, and notices that he’s still not moving. Thinking back to one of his earlier books, he leans forwards, pressing his mouth over Eddie’s open lips and breathing into him. He repeats that again and again, until he feels a tremor under him. He only waits to hear the first splutter, knowing he can’t stay, and as he sinks back to the inky depths, he hopes that he’s done enough.

Eddie coughs awake, which is surprising in and of itself, but he’s also… not where he was when he lost consciousness. He’s above the water for one, resting on a damp rock face. He immediately brings his hand up to his head but there’s nothing there – no gaping cut or even sticky remnants of blood. What had happened? As he lowers his arm, he stops. Lifting it back up and rotating it slowly, he lets it drop back at his side. His arm was better. Not perfect, and maybe it never would be, that small piece of metal that rested deep within him having taken the place of some of his mobility and replaced it with pain and memories, but it was still better.

He breaks out of his spiraling thoughts when he hears shouts again. Grabbing his oxygen pipe, he quickly unscrews it from the empty tank, attaching it to his spare and finally silencing the flashing light. Taking a few deep breaths, he plunges back into the water and makes his way back, to his friends, to the surface, to his life.

It starts to get busier in the caves: men and women in large suits and larger metal tanks on their backs, and all sorts of equipment that he knows won’t end well for him. He gathers the possessions he can and tries to hide away those that he can’t carry, though he knows that humans are tenacious and will eventually make their way through every crevice of this cavernous underwater maze. He makes his way out into the open gulf. Faced with the wide expanse of water and its endless possibilities, he heads south.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the land and water collide...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry - he finds Chris in this chapter: I'm not _that_ cruel

He’s been on the move for so long now. Part of him relishes the adventure, the freedom, the warmth of the water seeping into him and making him feel more alive than the cold depths he’d inhabited with his parents. Another part of him longs for a place where he can rest, stop swimming away from his past, and settle down. A home.

It’s getting colder as the days shorten and he heads further north. He is almost tempted to turn back, to head back around South America, or attempt the Panama Canal and swim along to the rest of the world, but he’s read about the place he’s heading to and it’s worth seeing at least once.

It’s much like he expected, although it’s busier and brighter than the photos in the book he’d read, more flashing lights and blaring noises than he’s prepared for, even from a distance.

What he doesn’t expect is for him to spot Eddie on the beach. Although years have passed and made him look more tired than when he last saw him, his easy smile replaced with a pensive look, he’s instantly recognizable. He’s spread out across the sand, legs out-stretched, deep in thought until he’s interrupted. A woman comes up to him, handing him two ice cream cones before folding herself down next to him and taking one back for herself. There’s a flicker of a smile on his face, before he’s distracted by a shout and his face lights up.

Buck tracks his gaze and spots a small child, waving a hand and a small plastic shovel as he shows off his creation – a sandcastle. Eddie calls out his praise and waves back in the same way, and the boy beams, an identical bright grin reflecting the summer sun before he goes back to building his own world.

Looking back, Eddie has a hand placed around the woman’s face. Buck’s glad he’s alive and happy. He’s glad. He slips back under the surface.

It’s supposed to be his last night here – he leaves to carry on swimming up north at daybreak, before the days become shorter and colder and the north becomes inhospitable for him. There are so many places of note along this stretch of the coastline, but he finds himself heading to one in particular, the sun setting pastel fire to the sky behind him as the water gets shallower.

His eyes are skimming across the beach, not entirely aimlessly, when he catches sight of a lone figure. An evening breeze has picked up, and if Eddie wasn’t clutching desperately at the papers in his hand, they’d be lost to the heartless sea. Eddie’s eyes rain down onto them instead, shoulders heaving in silent sorrow.

He’s alone, and now Eddie is too, but the expanse of sand between them feels like a desert – impassable, unforgiving of the way he wants to reach across it, wants to wipe at Eddie’s eyes until they’re bright again, creased in laughter like when he first saw him.

He wants to be part of his world.

The swim north is tiring, the gradual cooling of the waters straining at his muscles and wrapping a chill around his soul, making him sluggish in every way. He grits his teeth and bears it for a few months, never straying too near to land until he reaches a river estuary and is abruptly reminded that the changing of the seasons also means that his favorite day of the year is fast approaching. As he floats and looks upriver, he makes up his mind, turning tail and swimming back the way he came.

He blames the tingling on the back of his neck and his inability to swim straight on the nerves that are thrumming through his body, pushing him to swim harder, faster, longer, than he normally would. It’s midday by the time he first spots land, although it takes him another hour to be as close as he wants. He plans to start at the pier, knowing that the sights and sounds will bring him a sort of second-hand joy.

The feeling that floods his heart is purely his own when he hears a familiar cry. The boy is two steps ahead of Eddie, excitedly chattering over his shoulder as his father clutches onto a giant stuffed toy and nods along, the smile on his face dimmed but still radiant.

He’s distracted by the water tugging at him, tail having to beat with steadily increasing force to stay in the same spot until he glances down and realizes that the water is no longer lapping at the base of the wooden structure and is rushing towards him. Spinning on the spot, he can only open his mouth in dawning horror at the rising water behind him, the wave towering and thundering towards him. It takes him a few moments before he can shake the terror from his head, and then he’s charging towards land, desperation and the need to warn those on land fueling him to ignore the ache that’s building in him.

The rushing growl becomes unbearably loud before it envelopes him and he’s spinning, tossed around, unable to right himself or see anything through the churning turmoil that completely surrounds him. He imagines this is what drowning feels like.

Nothing could prepare him for this, for the overwhelming helplessness as he grips Chris to his chest and tries to outrun nature. The darkening shadow in front of him tells him he’s failed, and he can only leap into the stall, wrapping himself as tightly around Chris as he can, feeling his medal digging into his skin.

“Hold on, please just hold on.” 

The water is merciless, battering down his defenses and ripping away his grip, his strength, his son. He lets out a watery scream, no regard for anything as insignificant as oxygen, clawing desperately towards the blur of yellow that is his life, but the water slips through his fingers like sand.

He’s on fire again, tossed around like a rag doll, debris slicing into him, roaring worse than any blaze he’s ever encountered. He can’t do anything. He’s powerless.

He doesn’t know how he’s ended up here, but his arms are burning as he grips tight to the side of the Ferris Wheel. The water level makes it seem like he’s in the middle of the ocean. He pulls himself out of the water and into one of the cabins, resting his head for a moment against one of the seats, before his eyes fly open in a blind panic.

Christopher.

He tries to push himself upright, resting his side against the seat below him as leans forwards, but is hit with a white-hot pain. Rolling over and bringing a hand down his side, he palpates as gently as he can but still almost blacks out when he presses against a rib that is definitely broken. He gulps down air until his vision stops swimming, quickly scanning over the rest of his body to see if there was any more damage. He finds far too many cuts and bruises, but nothing else feels like it’s broken.

**Christopher.**

The distance to the nearest visible buildings is too far to swim, especially in his current condition but he needs to go back, to start his search. With a jolt, he sits upright far too quickly, ignoring his body’s violent protests as he looks around the Ferris Wheel.

“Christopher!”

His calls are one of many, of names and of pain, but he doesn’t hear or see anything that will lift his spirits. One voice does stand out though, a high cry for help from a woman in one of the cabins above him.

Heaving himself to stand up straight, he looks up to find the source of the pleading call. He spots a hand waving frantically, and quickly plots his route up. Before he begins his climb, he pats his back pocket, a smile twisting itself free as he finds his swiss army knife still tucked in. Aside from his wits, it’s the only thing he has to help him.

He focusses on his destination as he climbs, gingerly climbing over the glass door to find a man slumped on the floor.

“Ma’am, are you hurt?” He turns to the woman first, who shakes her head even though there are tears welling in her eyes.

“He hit his head when the wave hit, and he can’t feel his hands.”

“First my arms went numb, then my legs.”

_Spinal injury._

“Okay ma’am, we’ve got to be careful not to move his neck.”

He needs a backboard, a safe way to get him to medical help. He needs a miracle.

One of his prayers is answered by the faint whir of boat engines. He recognizes the blue uniforms but not the people, but he calls out nonetheless, alerting them to the medical emergency in front of him.

He’s joined shortly by a firefighter, who introduces herself as Bosko from the 136. Eddie interjects her triage process and quickly explains who he is and that they’re most likely dealing with a bruised neck, not a broken one, but the man still can’t feel his limbs. With a quirk of her eyebrows, she confirms the details from the couple before radioing her captain. They both work fast to secure the man to the backboard. He avoids thinking about his rib by keeping one ear on the conversation next to him.

She had asked him for a divorce, and from the sounds of it, he’d fought against it, fought for them, but as soon as some feeling comes back into the man’s fingers, he’s asking for the papers and a pen.

Eddie tries to drown out the conversation, turning back to Bosko, who seemed to be in the middle of talking to him.

“Diaz, you with me?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“I was asking how you ended up here.”

“Day off, I came to the pier,” he doesn't mention Christopher, can't bring himself to say his name, “and got swept out when the tsunami hit.”

She gives him an appraising look, mouth serious as she observes the tattered state of his clothes, the white of his top now muddied and bloodied. “Hell of a spin cycle.”

The helicopter above him stops any further conversation, and the creaking of the wheel and shouts of incoming debris means that he manages to avoid any further scrutiny. Except, once they are back on land, Bosko’s captain gives him one look and sees straight through him.

“Check his ribs.”

“Captain –” the rest of his sentence is cut off by a sharp wince, as Bosko’s fingers press at the cracked bone.

“Broken rib, Captain.” She ignores the dirty look he throws at her.

“Bosko, he’s an army man, we’re all self-sacrificing bastards, so I want you to go with him to the field hospital in case he decides to go back to pretending that everything’s alright.”

He’s opening his mouth to protest when he gets shut down completely with a, “that’s an order, Diaz.” Turning to his colleague, he pats her shoulder, voice softer as he says, “Lena, we’ll rendezvous once you’re dropped him off.”

His only priority is Christopher, he needs to find Christopher, broken rib be damned.

It’s what he tries to say when Bosko turns back to him, but what comes out instead is pleading. “Lena,” she glares at the attempt at familiarity, “please, I have to find my son.”

Her face drops for a moment, before she glances at his torso. “Diaz, you’re in no state to be wandering around. We’ll find him, someone will find him.”

He’s no match against the vice-like grip around his bicep as she steers him up into the truck, keeping a hold as the engine roars to life and they leave the ocean behind.

He’s still fighting her, even as he clutches his side and feels the pain struggling to break free as well, but she just frog-marches them up to a nurse. There’s a clipboard in her hand, and his mind only registers that there’s names on that list of people that are being treated here.

His own name sounds distant on Lena’s tongue, and as she moves to take them inside, he digs in his heels.

“Your list. Is there a Christopher Diaz – he’s 8, curly hair, he’s got cerebral palsy, is he – is he here?”

He hates the tremble in his voice, the pitying look he gets from both women before the nurse scans the list and tells him he’s not there. He wants to tell her to look again, frustration bubbling under the surface even as he politely thanks her, letting himself be dragged away even if he doesn’t deserve it.

Lena’s had laser focus on him since they got in the truck but here, in the middle of a busy hospital ward, she seems distracted, eyes repeatedly glancing towards a young boy that’s sitting at the end of a hospital bed, silent and hunched over. He can’t look at him for too long, the prickling of tears burning his eyes, so he’s taken entirely by surprise by the sound of coughing and the sudden coldness beside him as Lena leaps into action.

He looks everywhere but at the drowning boy, grateful for the flurry of his parents and a doctor as they take him out on a trolley.

His voice is a croak when Lena resumes her guard by him. “Secondary drowning – impressive catch.”

“Don’t think that means I’ve forgotten why I’m really here.”

He’s not forgotten either, but he just needs bandages and painkillers and he can patch himself up. He tells her as much and is mildly surprised that she’s the first to start walking, purposeful strides that leave him struggling to catch up.

She works deftly once she’s finally found the supplies and a relatively quiet corner to work in, pulling out a swathe of bandages and smirking at him as he offers his army knife to cut it to size, wrapping it tightly around him before tugging his Henley back down. She hands him some painkillers and he swallows them down. Medical care finally complete, he’s immediately on his feet, tearing himself away from a yelling Lena. Pain still courses through his side, but he keeps himself moving with a blinkered ferocity. One foot in front of the other, he can do this, he needs to do this, he can’t live without Christopher.

Eddie is stumbling through hospital corridors, emerging out into a darkness that’s only punctuated by flashing reds and blues, when he hears a familiar voice.

“Chris?”

All his pain forgotten, he sprints across to the hospital bed that Chris is perched on, tugging him away from the hands of the nurse that was checking him and into his arms, clutching desperately at him. He’s caught between holding his son as close as physically possible and leaning back to look at his face, eyes frantically flitting over his features, as though he’ll blink and this will all have been a dream.

“You’re alright, you’re – Christopher.” He can’t speak for a moment, the surge of tears that he’s been shoving deep threatening to become a backdraft, so he sucks in the cool night air and tries to quell the emotions that have been burning inside him.

“What happened?”

“The nice man saved me.” He points into the distance and Eddie sees a shape shifting in the distant shadows, where the water is still pooled.

Scooping Chris into his arms, he moves towards where Chris had pointed, watching the shape slowly turn into a head resting on top of an upturned car, the expression becoming nervous as he approaches.

Once he’s within reach, he grabs at the hand that rests over a car wheel, trying to thank him but the hand slips out of Eddie’s grasp, leaving only Christopher’s glasses behind. Eddie’s momentarily distracted by the way his son lolls in his arms, hastily pulling the glasses over Christopher’s head and setting them straight.

When he looks back, the man is nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> White Lies - Strangers and Caroline Polachek's Ocean of tears came on whilst I was editing this and the lyrics seem somewhat appropriate:  
> 
>
>> I heard the water beat on your skin a shower of discipline  
> As heavy as iron  
> And I imagined the hand that gripped mine  
> Now gripping the gaps in the tile  
> Just holding on tight
>
>> This is gonna be torture  
> Before it's sublime  
> ...  
> The only thing that's separating you and me tonight  
> is an ocean of tears


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buck gets his day in the sun

He can’t take his mind off him.

The wreckage has largely been cleared and the city has returned to a new normal, although there are memorials and flowers creeping outwards from street corners, and shops that remain shuttered even after others have had a lick of new paint and opened up anew. In that time, Chris tells him what he can remember of the day in slow drips and drops.

Eddie doesn’t push it, tries not to interrogate the child therapist and lets him work with Christopher at his own pace. He slowly gleans information from brief conversations in sterile hallways, and the occasional sleepy comment as he kisses his son goodnight.

He'd been wrapped around a lamppost, slipping into the water and tossed around until a man had caught him, pulling him all the way up to the surface and putting him onto an upturned firetruck, along with a dozen other people. He’d then swam him to the field hospital, going to the edge of the water, before handing him to a woman who was heading that way.

One night, when the curtains are drawn and Eddie has pulled him into a less desperate hug than the one that night, Christopher mumbles into his shoulder, “he fixed my cuts.”

Pulling back slowly, he scans Christopher’s eyes, wondering where this comment has come from. “That was very nice of him. How did he do that?”

“Um, I don’t know? When I was on the truck, I was a little hurt,” he sleepily waves a hand over his face and neck, “and then, when the nice lady carried me to the hospital, I wasn’t.” The sentence ends on a yawn, so Eddie leans forward to ruffle his hair, gently pulling the covers up and switching on the bedside lamp. He drops another kiss on his curls as he wishes him good night, and only hovers a few seconds too long at the door before flicking the light switch off.

Back in his own room, it’s his turn to slump into bed, but he perches at the edge instead, elbows digging into his knees as he rests his weary head in his hands.

It’s the first time he’s heard it from Christopher himself. The therapist had specifically sought him out to tell him that Christopher had repeated that particular part of the story many times. When he’d asked Eddie if Christopher was particularly hurt after the incident, Eddie had forced his mind back to when he’d first got his son back in his arms. Ignoring the darkness surrounding that night and the day before it, he had only been able to mutter that he’d been fine, before Chris had come out, clutching his latest drawing.

He’d replayed the moment once they were home and Chris was reading in his room, eyes blinking rapidly as he had tried to sharpen the image, but every time he had closed his eyes, he’d received the same picture, and a dawning realization that Chris had come back to him _completely physically unscathed_.

It’s as he’s scrubbing his face now that he’s hit by another memory, from what feels like another life. Going to the wedding in Mexico had been an excuse to escape the stifling silence and echoing shouts of the house in Texas, and to surround himself with people that would see his silver star and injured arm, and respond with light-hearted ribbing and loud distractions. He’d tried to forget everything behind him, which was how he’d ended up swimming through an underwater cave with a couple of the wedding guests. And then he’d ended up lying on his back above the rippling water.

He’d never given it too much thought, but he brings his hand up to his forehead, where the skin is smooth and even, and he thinks he remembers an injury, a deep cut from a jagged little edge of the rock face that had fallen in the blind spot of his torch. He’d been injured… and then he hadn’t been.

It’s still not enough to make him believe his son entirely, but it does start to make him wonder. He doesn’t believe in miracles, not anymore, but it feels like one.

It takes them a few weeks for Eddie to suggest they go down to the beach for the day, letting out a deep exhale when Chris smiles lightly and agrees. Even though they’re early, they pick a quiet spot; plenty of sand for Chris to play with, and the vast expanse of the ocean stretching out in front of them for Eddie to stare into.

When he’s not looking fondly at the scrunched look of concentration on Chris’ face as he smooths a shovel over one of the molds, Eddie gazes out at the waves, crashing softly, far away from them. He’s got swim trunks and towels for both of them, in case Chris wants to venture into the water in the next few hours before lunch, but he’s satisfied for now to keep his feet and his son on dry land.

He starts to zone out, trying to lull himself into a sense of calm at the rhythmic movement of the water, which is why it takes him a second to realize that the steady rise and fall of the water has been interrupted, a small shape that becomes larger and larger. It turns into a head, a neck, a torso, and then…

The man collapses at the water’s edge, and Eddie is scrambling upright, bare feet skidding in the sand as he runs forwards. He drops to his knees next to the man, whose face is pressed into the sand, arms reaching outwards and legs twisted behind him.

He rolls the man onto his back, checking for a pulse. It takes a few seconds for the man to cough violently but drily, before he’s suddenly sitting up. He blinks at Eddie a few times, before something that looks like recognition spreads across his face, lighting it up along with his toothy smile.

“Are you okay?”

The man opens his mouth, lips parting but nothing coming out. He grabs at his throat, before his shoulders drop and he nods.

“You might have some throat trauma. We should go and get you examined at a hospital.” The nods turn into sharp shakes, a firm no that make his blue eyes grow stormy and fearful.

“Dad!” Keeping a firm hand on the stranger’s shoulder, he turns towards Christopher, who had come closer in the commotion. “That’s the man!”

Eddie’s mind whirs to try and piece together the puzzle in front of him, as the man smiles at Chris.

“You…” How could he forget? He’s the one he’d been looking for: it all makes perfect sense…how does this make sense? He’s entranced, leaning forwards a little as his eyes circle over the features that he’d only ever seen in the dark before, before he catches himself, jerking backwards, feeling the mid-morning sun on his cheeks.

Chris joins them, throwing his arms around the man’s bare shoulders and thanking him profusely. “You saved me!”

Once Chris has pulled away, and the man is looking a little pale but pleased, he joins in with the sentiment. He doesn’t know how to be as openly affectionate as Chris is with other people, but he can do honesty without feeling too exposed, especially when it comes to the person that saved the only good thing in his life.

“Thank you.” His whisper is almost lost in the breaking waves, but he knows he’s been heard when he gets a soft smile back, watery eyes looking at him as though _he’d_ been the one to save him.

“…I don’t even know your name.” The man looks like he’s about to open his mouth again, but Christopher chimes in, “I told you Dad, it’s Buck.”

“Buck?” He gets a nod, followed by a shrug and a tilted head. “Buck.”

Buck attempts to get up but immediately tumbles forward, Eddie only barely managing to grab a hold of him and lower him back down safely. The way Buck is looking at his legs is like he doesn’t know what to do with them, as he frowns and bites his lip at them.

He must really have gone through something before he washed up here. Eddie has a million questions but, somehow, they don’t feel important.

“How about we start a little easier, instead of trying to run before you can walk?” There is something strangely endearing about the way Buck tilts his head in response, in sharp contrast with the keen intelligence that glimmers in his eyes.

Eddie carefully places an arm around Buck’s torso. “On the count of three: one…two… **three**.” With a grunt from him and the silent clench of muscles from Buck, they’re upright, and Buck sways a little within his grip before turning to beam at him.

Chris has abandoned his previous entertainment and is looking up at Buck with awestruck eyes. “Dad, maybe he needs crutches too!”

“That’s a great idea buddy.” God, what would he do without him? Fingers still loosely gripped around Buck’s ribs, he looks around the beach to see if there’s anywhere he might be able to get some, since Chris’ spare pair would be dwarfed by the man next to him even if he stacked them on top of each other.

Spotting a hut in the distance that might be of assistance, he turns to see Chris looking up adoringly at Buck, who is grinning right back.

“Can you look after him?” It’s a question he never thought he’d ask. “Just for a minute.” The frantic nods he gets back slow a little, but his smile doesn’t fade.

He wasn’t there for when Chris first got his crutches, but he was there to get him new ones, and he’ll be there for when his inevitable growth spurt will require new crutches and more physiotherapy. It’s why he lets Christopher take the lead, giving out advice on how to hold the crutches and how to start taking his first tentative steps.

Eddie is on Buck’s other side, fingers fluttering as he watches Buck’s feet drag across the sand before he lifts one and places it heavily in the sand in front of him.

Chris lights up, shouting out, “that’s great kid, well done!” The praise is immediately followed by Buck’s left knee giving out and Eddie hooks an arm under Buck’s elbow to pull him back up.

“That’s alright, keep trying, you’ve got this.” Eddie shares a small smile with Buck at the young boy’s encouragement, before removing his hand and resuming his guard.

The sun slowly rises in the sky as they continue practicing, Eddie catching Buck with decreasing frequency until Buck is moving almost as fast as Chris. Eddie sees how well they get on, wordlessly in sync.

“Do you want to spend the day with us?” He isn’t sure why he’s offering, but the way he’s greeted with two enthusiastically nodding heads, he’s sure he’s made the right decision.

“Food?” Buck’s nod is a tentative one, his head briefly turning back towards the sea.

Chris is starting to look a little tired, between the hours since breakfast and the way he’s been dancing up and down the beach as he gave his lesson. Eddie scoops him up, swinging him round and laughing as he gets giggles in return. Placing him down on the blanket, he gathers up the shovels and sandcastle molds, giving them a shake before placing them back in his bag.

“Okay, let’s get going.” Folding up the blanket behind Chris, he places a gentle hand on Christopher’s back, before looking up at Buck.

“Ready?” He doesn’t get a nod from Buck, but those blue eyes are crystal clear in their message.

Buck hands him back the crutches and takes his first tentative steps towards him.

He had deliberately picked a spot that wasn’t too far from the restaurants, and though the walk over is slow and quiet, it’s a comfortable silence, such that even Chris seems content to just walk beside them, occasionally peering over at Buck with a curious look on his face.

They get settled into a booth at an Italian restaurant, although Eddie deliberately picks a seat without an ocean view and gets Chris a coloring sheet as he looks through the menu. He’s just about decided on what he’s getting, and looks up to ask Buck the same, except Buck’s eyes are glinting at the cutlery.

Before Eddie can open his mouth, Buck has grabbed the fork, lifting it up to look at his reflection before…bringing it up to his hair, drawing the tines through his damp curls. He stunned into watching on with bemusement for a few moments, before Buck looks up to see his expression and drops the utensil with a clatter.

“Um,” he’s interrupted from thinking about what to say next by the waiter coming over, and doesn’t know what to say once their order has been taken, leaving Buck to look around the room in undisguised curiosity. The meal passes without too much further incident, although Buck definitely watches to see how Eddie eats his pasta before he starts eating himself; hands still a little uncoordinated as he places each ravioli piece in his mouth, his whole face lighting up with each chew. Since the man has clearly washed up in just the clothes on his back, Eddie pays, one eye on the way that Buck stares intently at the card machine, cocking his head as it beeps.

When Eddie asks Christopher whether he wants to walk around the shops or go back to the beach, both the way his son sits up a little straighter and the wistful way Buck looks out of the window at the boulevard makes his mind up for him.

“Right gang, let’s go and find some fun souvenirs for the day!”

The shops are mostly standard touristy fare, but the way Buck is utterly enraptured by every tacky t-shirt and snow-globe is infectious, and he finds himself seeing every trinket and gift in a new way. The way Buck keeps catching his eye to show him whatever he’s discovered brings a smile to his face again and again, until he decides to just keep it on, grinning as his son excitedly points out both their names on the keyring stand.

It’s his turn to drag everyone into the next shop; an old antique store whose dulling and peeling shop front sits in sharp contrast to its surroundings. If Eddie had thought Buck was curious before, it’s nothing compared to how he glances around at the glass cases and wooden shelves. He leaves Buck to his tentative investigations and takes Christopher over to the back of the store, standing behind him and eyeing up the dusty volumes as Chris looks curiously at the children’s books on the lower shelves. With a quick instruction to be careful with the old books, he moves to the side, drawn to the old compasses. In the reflection of the glass case beside him, he sees Buck is making his way over, a single finger tracing the edge of the display cases absent-mindedly.

Their shoulders brush as they stand together. The next minute passes in further silence, until Buck spots a pipe on a shelf and grabs onto it, blowing hard and sending dust billowing out, getting them an angry look from the shop owner. He grabs the pipe out of Buck’s hand and carefully extracts them from the shop, although he can’t help the chuckle that bursts out of him at the flush that has blossomed on Buck’s face, who scrubs a hand over his face as he bites his lip in embarrassment.

“Dad, I thought you couldn’t touch stuff?”

Eddie glances back at the shop, sending an apologetic smile to the shop owner as he replies, “that’s right, you can’t, but Buck didn’t know that.” There are so many things he doesn’t know either, like the story behind the red splodge above Buck’s eye. It’s beautiful.

He blinks at his own startled reflection in a shop window, and quickly turns back to his son.

“Let’s keep going.”

The shadows have grown long and there’s a bite to the evening air. They’ve wound their way back to the oceanfront, sitting on a bench with Chris resting his head in Eddie’s lap. The sounds of the waves lapping the shore are almost drowned out by the fountain behind them, and a band playing in the distance. The two men sit, side by side, watching a volleyball game in the distance. Eddie has one hand playing with the errant curl on Chris’ forehead when Buck turns to him and places a hand over where his is resting on his thigh.

It feels like that simple touch heals something inside him and he can only stare at where they are pressed together, wondering if he’s imagining the glow of Buck’s skin or if it’s just the golden light of the setting sun, the reflection of the fountain water, the sparkling salt in the sea breeze.

Eddie stops brushing through his son’s hair and brings his hand to Buck’s shoulder and Buck traces his thumb over his forehead, as though brushing away an invisible strand of hair. The music seems to grow louder in his head, the world spinning with Buck as the only constant.

“Dad?” Hands clasped back in their own laps, Eddie looks down to see Chris rubbing his face into Eddie’s legs, his words half-muffled. “I’m tired. Can we go home now?”

Buck stands up, jerking his head towards the pier before starting to walk away, leaving Eddie in his confusion. Hurt starts to creep into his chest, until Buck turns and crooks a finger. He follows, a sleepy Christopher cradled in his arms until they’re back where he found Buck, and is stopped with a cold hand to his chest.

It lingers before Buck continues walking. Eddie is frozen on the spot, unable to move even as Buck walks towards the water, and then keeps going. He’s half submerged when he turns on the spot. If Eddie wasn’t staring intently, he might have missed the bubbling under the water, and the way that Buck…

Buck doesn’t have legs anymore.

In their place, there’s a shimmering pink and green shape, and he catches the tip of a fin when Buck flicks his lower half out of the water, sending an arc of water behind it.

A tear slips down Eddie’s face as he watches Buck float for a second, before Buck turns sadly away and is under the surface with a splash. As Eddie watches him swim away, he’s left with only the warm weight of his son pressed against him and the lingering cold of Buck’s touch, the echo of Buck’s hand against his face, brushing against his forehead.

It’s a familiar gesture, one he used to do all the time when he had longer hair, flipping it out of his eyes. But there’s something else there, a familiarity that feels older, deeper.

His forehead. He hit his forehead, hard. Hard enough to knock him out, hard enough to bleed.

Water and an injury and a miraculous recovery.

But he was alive. His son was alive.

Unscratched and healed.

His stomach plummets.

Mexico.

The tsunami.

Buck. It was Buck.

_He keeps saving him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always welcomed and appreciated, or come and shout at me on [tumblr](https://oneawkwardcookie.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Dean Lewis - Waves played whilst I was proofing, so have some vaguely relevant lyrics:
> 
> "It comes and goes in waves  
> And carries us away  
> Through the wind...  
> ...Memories, of a stolen place  
> Caught in the silence  
> An echo lost in space"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't want to give up hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is the most _extra_ Easter egg in this chapter (super vague hint - I hope this music themed Easter egg doesn't fall FLAT, otherwise I will Be a little embarrassed 😝)
> 
> Answer in the end notes!

Eddie keeps coming back to the pier, thinking he’ll catch Buck again. For weeks on end, he finds himself spending every free hour going back, looking out for a particular face. Glimpsing what he thinks is blue eyes, a birthmark, that all-encompassing grin, but what ends up being nothing or something else entirely. At every body of water that leads back to the sea, from the smallest creek to the countless basins scattered along the coast, he sends out a hopeful glance, although all he gets back is his own reflection.

Finally, he prints a letter, and pastes it to the inside of a bottle. Glass distorts the words a little, but he hopes the message is still clear. At the last minute, he buys the pipe from the antique shop, adding it to the bottle before he stoppers it tight, wrapping a ribbon around the neck and sending it out into the ocean, hoping and praying that it’ll find Buck. All he can do lately is hope and pray.

Friday rolls around and there's a call along the beach – he's distracted, but he's nothing if not professional whilst on the job, moving towards one of the many people that had been caught by the falling structure. Gritting his teeth in order to avoid looking anywhere but at his patient, he makes quick work of the broken arm. As they load some of the injured into the ambulance, Eddie sends one last look at the water. Catching sunlight as it bobs amongst the waves is his bottle ... except the ribbon has gone. Bobby is calling everyone, but Eddie's eyes frantically search the water.

“Back on the truck!”

Although the order buzzes loud and clear through the radio, amplified through where Hen stand nearby, he ignores it, feet taking him away from dry land and further onto the sand. Chimney calls out for him, but he's deaf to it. Buck is here somewhere and he needs to find him.

Boots skidding on the sand, he makes his way into the water, wading in. All he can do is call out for Buck over the waves, voice growing hoarse as he battles with Poseidon, Triton, and Neptune to be heard. Feeling like his dreams are slipping out of his fingers isn't anything new, but he thought that just maybe, this time, he could hold onto hope without it drowning him. Closing his eyes for his moment, he sends out another silent prayer, and opens his eyes to … another pair of eyes.

Buck is in front of him, swimming – no, _floating_ – effortlessly in sync with the rhythm of the ocean. All words leave him except, “you read my letter?” Flipping his tail to bring himself closer, Buck presses the ribbon into Eddie's chest and nods, letting the fabric flutter in the wind. Clutching onto it brings his hand over Buck's, and though they're both cold, he feels a sense of peace wash over him again.

Coming back to himself, he says, “you can't talk,” a question that sounds more like a statement. From the way Buck points up and shakes his head, then points down and nods, he's right in his deduction – he's just voiceless above the water. Eddie's questions all seem to be coming out now, though his voice cracks as he adds, “and you’re not supposed to be outside the water.” Finding out that Buck definitely can't speak means that he has to pay closer attention to his every gesture, every expression that crosses his face – he gets a shrug that suggests that even Buck doesn’t know the rules anymore, at least not to whatever new game they’ve started playing.

It's with increasing apprehension and decreasing hope that he continues forward. “Do you want to… be up here?” There’s a strange sort of blue lurking under the mermaid’s cheeks, a pale impersonation of his eyes, but it’s a nod nonetheless, his eyes still searching for something in Eddie's as the waves lap around his chest.

“I can’t ask you to leave your life behind.” It’s a sad kind of head-shake, and though Buck briefly glances backwards, the wistful look apparent even from his profile, he's soon looking back at him with such a burning intensity that Eddie loses his breath.

“You won’t be able to talk.” He can almost see the cogs turning, the moving of weights between two sides of a scale. The sunburst of a smile tells him there may be a solution, although those blue eyes still look nervous.

Buck puts his hand up to cup his face, his thumb rubbing seawater across his cheek.

“You’ll come back.” It’s just a hoarse whisper now, but they’re so close that he knows he’s been heard, been _understood_ by the way the gap between their lips is closed and he’s wrapped in strong arms, resolutely held together against the movement of the entire ocean. He presses back, hands bursting out of the water to grip around the other man’s neck, to try and hold him closer for just another moment longer.

At the very least, _he_ needs oxygen, so he has to be the one to pull away, breathless and soaked.

“One week. Meet me here in seven days.” The nod bumps their foreheads together, but he doesn’t care.

He watches Buck swim away again, but the salt on his lips and the warmth in his heart convince him that this isn’t goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading: kudos and comments are always appreciated, or come and shout at me on [tumblr](https://oneawkwardcookie.tumblr.com/).
> 
> So this now has five chapters...and maybe an extra coda after that, but that'll be after the main ending.
> 
> Easter egg - the first letter of each sentence in the first 8 paragraphs gives you the tune of the chorus of Part of Your World 🎶


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A _massive_ thank you to AC for managing to reverse-psychology me into finishing this and helping me when I was having a bit of a panic! Everyone should go and read [all her stuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annide/pseuds/Annide/works) and give her all the love 💜💜💜
> 
> Shout out to [woodchoc_magnum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodchoc_magnum/pseuds/woodchoc_magnum/works) as well, for being super sweet about this fic, which blew my mind because she writes INCREDIBLY!

_Back-lit by silently flashing red lights, Eddie had been kneeling on the ground, speaking in a soft calming manner to the man in front of him. His hands worked steadily and patiently to apply the white wrapping. As Eddie got to his feet and clapped his hand on the shoulder of the woman beside him, his face lit up with a smile. It was near contagious for the people gathered around the scene, eyes filled with a respectful awe as the uniformed men and women made their way back to the trucks._

_He watched Eddie glance at the water. He watched Eddie notice the bottle. He held the ribbon to his heart and hoped that Eddie hadn't changed his mind._

He can't help himself, so he turns back and watches Eddie wade back onto shore. He feels a roaring fire inside him, the ignited embers of hope, and as he lets himself be pulled back by the tide, he can't even bring himself to care that he might be spotted. Eddie is dragging his drenched self towards two men and a woman. Even from this distance, he can see all their expressions clearly. The older one looks thoroughly unimpressed, eyes scanning Eddie, who stands in front of him, water-logged and soaking the sand around him. Eddie starts to speak, tentatively at first but with increasing speed. The woman has kind eyes too but she's also looking at him in utter disbelief, while the man beside her chews on the thought as he stares out towards him.

Eddie turns back, the sun catching his eyes as he spots Buck again, and gives him a silent shrug and half a smile.

Buck knows what to do. Wrapping the ribbon around his wrist, he inverts himself, unfurling his tail. He'd never given it much thought before, especially since his early life had been spent in the depths, surrounded by his own kind. He tries to imagine what a tail would look like to humans - both so similar and so different to their own swimming equipment, which was so flat and dull in comparison. 

Each of theirs is unique – he still remembers Maddie's was a shimmering blue, bright even in the gloom, with flecks of gold. His own is green, with the occasional pink - tourmaline amongst opals. His time nearer the surface has shown his scales to be iridescent, easily camouflaged by the way sunlight sparkles and dances off the tumultuous water.

He can't help but show off a little, flicking his tail down and up, sending water splashing outwards. He gives it a few more seconds, and then rights himself. The picture in front of him is priceless.

Everyone is now staring, lax-jawed and wide-eyed. Once they seem to recover their ability to move, the older man just looks back and forth between him and Eddie, the other man is throwing his arms into the air and yelling something, which is lost to the way the woman is simultaneously berating Eddie, who also looks utterly stunned.

He has seven days, to return and wipe that look off his face, or see it again. With one last look back, he sets off to the one place he never thought he'd go again.

The price to pay for one day a year on the surface was the loss of his voice, a cruel parody of the helplessness he otherwise felt in that other world, at least until he met Eddie and Chris.

This is something else entirely, a much bigger ask, and nothing in life is free. That's what he'd always been taught, and it's a lesson that sits heavier in his heart as he dives back to where he came from, where that lesson had first been drilled into him.

He avoids his parents’ dwelling, heading instead for a cave-like structure where he hopes he'll find the solution he needs. The route is winding, the path only lit by the occasional glowing sea creature that melts out of the shadows, sizing him up before moving onwards, deciding he isn’t prey enough for them. The rock face slowly closes in on him, and he’s almost swallowed whole by the darkness when the tunnel opens into a vast cavern.

“The prodigal son is finally here!” The voice is bright and cutting, piercing out from the gloom, closely followed by tentacles that curl through the water, dragging the creature into view.

“Returned to take the throne?” The silvery arms spread outwards, the waves of black stripes making it hard to track their movements, although one reaches slyly towards him until Buck moves backwards a little.

“No, I - ” He looks around, the exact words somehow catching in this throat even though he's rehearsed them the whole way over.

“I want to be with Eddie, up there – can you do that?”

Chase’s laugh is made more cacophonous by the way it echoes off the stalactites, harsh and jarring, vibrating through the foundations. He senses something moving around them, creatures that surround them for a distance.

“The only way to do that is to become human yourself.”

It had always been a possibility, something he’d considered, but he’d hoped that there might be another solution, something that allowed him to still return if he needed to - for himself, for his sister. He swallows, the water tasting acrid in his throat. He wonders what water will feel like when he’s human.

“Is that the only way?”

“Of course, Evan! I only do this to help you get what you want.” The tentacles flutter around him, brushing against his skin before drawing closed again. “Now, the only thing left is the matter of payment.”

He doesn’t own much anymore, having been on the move without a home for so long. He thinks back to what he left in his cave that might still be there, to his other hiding spots scattered around the South American coast. He’s not sure what value old books and scavenged human trinkets would have, but that’s all he has to offer.

“I can give you everything I own.” The look he gets back, arched eyebrow and curled blue-green lips, suggests that isn’t enough.

“I'm not just after money, you know, otherwise I wouldn't be in this profession.”

He spins on the spot as Chase twists his limbs and circles him.

“If you really want to be human, there's something else you can give.” He’s suddenly face-to-face with black eyes, capturing him in their intense gaze that seems to touch his very soul.

“Your magic.”

The Buckleys are an old family, powerful in more ways than one. The magic is just a part of that, but it’s the only thing he’d been able to take from them and turn into something good, something that could help others and make his life meaningful, make him…

“Humanfolk don't like magic.” An image of humans is conjured up in front of him. They’re surrounded by fire, the sound of screams distorted as the water starts roil and heat around him.

“Really, I'd be doing _you_ a favour, but I'll consider it payment enough.”

His skin prickles at the thought that he could end up like that. But what did he have without his magic?

He stares at the emptiness of his open palms, and the memories they hold. The feel of Eddie’s skin knitting shut under his fingers. The warmth seeping through Eddie’s shirt as he placed his palm over his heart. The scratch of slight stubble on Eddie’s cheek and the firm ridges of his spine.

He wonders if that’ll be enough.

It’s been five days. Somehow, this, rather than war or fire, hell or high water, is what has his nerves frayed. He’s doing his job with the same level of professionalism that he prides himself on and he’s managed to avoid most questions from Chim and Hen. He thinks Chris can sense it, although he's not told him. He doesn't know how he'd take it if the week passed and nothing changed, and he doesn't want to let Chris down, not again. It still feels like there’s a clock ticking down inside him, a jittery impatience that thrums through him in the quieter moments. 

It’s why it takes him a while to realize what’s happening when he hears Hen call up to the loft, “Eddie, someone's here for you!”

Chris should be in school, and no one else comes by without calling him, not unless it’s an emergency, or it’s important.

He takes the steps two at a time, skidding to a stop next to a truck, to find him standing there, wearing a tentative smile but steady on his two legs.

_**Buck.** _

“We’ll give you some privacy this time,” Hen smirks and he drops his head as he hears her high-five Chim before they head back the way he came, Chim dragging his feet on the stairs.

Eddie gestures them towards the locker room.

“Eddie.” He’s clearly still unused to speaking, vocal cords sounding dry and his voice a rough rumble, but his name has never sounded so sweet or been said with such reverence.

He goes to say Buck’s name, but it catches in his throat like a sob. As he clutches his throat, he’s reminded of their first meeting. The laugh he gets in response sounds like the crashing of waves on the shore.

Buck doesn’t own anything on land or have anything beyond the clothes on his back. He takes him home. Chris is ecstatic to see him again and it sends a wave of joy through his heart to see the way that Buck smiles so brightly at his son.

He still notices the way the smile fades too quickly once Chris isn’t looking at him, or when he thinks no one else is watching. It takes far longer than normal to get Chris settled in bed, and he pulls his bedroom curtains shut before grabbing a blanket and a long-sleeved t-shirt from his closet.

By the time he’s back in the living room, Buck is perched at the edge of the seat, fingers tapping on his knees.

“What’s wrong?”

Buck turns quickly, hands suddenly clasped in his lap. “Nothing, it’s great, thank you so much, you’re… this is all… thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I owe you.” The way Buck tilts his head in confusion reminds him of the beach. “You saved him, now it’s our turn to save you, or look after you. Whatever you need.”

“But I can’t…” He’s back to looking at his hands, his confused expression turning to something that looks like disgust.

He waits in silence, knowing there’s more to this, to him, than he knows.

“I don’t have my magic anymore. I can’t help you, or Chris, or anyone anymore.” He pauses, a deep inhale that sounds like fire sweeping through a building, not meeting his eyes as he whispers, “I’d understand if you didn’t want to help me anymore.”

He’s stunned. Is this why Buck had been so on edge? He realises he’s stayed silent for too long when Buck abruptly gets up. He sways for a second before walking towards the door, and now Eddie’s stumbling as he turns, catching Buck’s arm before he can leave.

“What, where are you going?” It’s his turn to take a deep breath, to calm his nerves, so he can get his thoughts out of his head.

"I’m not helping you because of that part of you, because of your magic. I’m doing it because of who you are. You're a good man, Buck.”

“Eddie, you don’t know me.” He tightens his grip on Buck’s arm, moving his head to catch his flitting eyes.

“Maybe not. But I want to.”

The dawning smile he gets back is the start of something beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of the main story! I've a little post-credits scene and some other AU related things that I might drop at some point, but I've got my boys where I want them!
> 
> Here's some lyrics for a song that came on whilst I was proofing 😊
> 
> I never came to the beach  
> Or stood by the ocean  
> I never sat by the shore  
> Under the sun with my feet in the sand
> 
> But you brought me here  
> And I'm happy that you did  
> 'Cause now I'm as free  
> As birds catching the wind
> 
> I always thought I would sink, so I never swam  
> I never went boatin', don't get how they are floatin'  
> And sometimes I get so scared of what I can't understand
> 
> But here I am  
> Next to you


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art for this work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first piece is by the wonderful and incredibly talented Ro. This piece is also found [here](https://ronordmann.tumblr.com/post/632254369787772928/) on Tumblr, along with the rest of her amazing cover artworks, at [@ronordmann](https://ronordmann.tumblr.com/tagged/banner%20by%20Ro%20nordmann). Please send loads of love to Ro because this cover (which wasn't even requested by anyone else???) made me super emotional 😭
> 
> The second piece is just me being obsessed with my own work... 🤣

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! If you liked it, let me know 😊


End file.
